


Unsafeword

by Davechicken



Series: The Pilot and his Dark Knight [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: BDSM, Bottom!kylo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 00:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6098542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo misbehaved and gave everyone attitude during the last Resistance meeting. It's up to Poe to punish him and teach him a lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsafeword

“What did we say about misbehaving in public?” the pilot asks.

“What in the Force are you on about?”

“This.”

“You can’t just say: ‘this’. That’s like saying: ‘oxygen’.”

“Kylo, enough.”

“Really? Enough oxygen? You want me to stop _breathing_ now?”

Kylo knows he’s pushing his luck, but once he gets started, there’s no stopping him. It’s like there’s a switch inside him, and when it’s flipped it gets stuck in position. And by the time he’s realised he’s been… behaving… awkwardly… it’s already so entrenched that to stop is to admit he was wrong in the first place.

And he doesn’t admit to being wrong easily, if ever. He’d probably have come back **home** a lot sooner, if it wasn’t a serious character flaw underneath everything else. Thankfully, Poe doesn’t stand for it.

Sometimes Poe catches him out sooner, but they’d been in a meeting, and all the subtle cues in the world weren’t going to bring him out of his brattish mood. When he got like that, only one thing worked, and he really wasn’t prepared to let his mother see _that_. Poe might, but Kylo would rather die. 

So now they were back in their quarters, and Kylo had known what was coming the whole walk back. Part of him was eager and excited, but he didn’t like admitting it. After all, he did this because he _had_ to, not because he **wanted** to. He didn’t ever deliberately set out to be trouble, it just… flared in him like wildfire and screamed noisily until he was taken back in hand. Poe’s hand, to be specific. Always Poe’s hand. Kylo wouldn’t let anyone else do what he needs doing to him. 

Poe stares up at him, his expression stern. Kylo wonders how much further he can push this, or how much further is wise. Although there’s also the counter-question of _can he even stop?_

“Kylo.”

Kylo glowers down, hands in fists.

“What were you doing?”

“I was contributing to the dumb meeting.”

“What were you doing?”

“I WAS CONTRIBUTING. It’s not my fault they’re all **TOO DUMB TO LIVE**.”

Poe moves fast, and Kylo yells in surprise as his wrist is grabbed. Poe has the disadvantage of his height, but he can still force Kylo’s wrist up and behind his back. Push the joints until they scream, bend him over in blissful agony.

Kylo could fight back. With the Force, that is, but there’s an unspoken arrangement not to, when they do this. Not after the time they trashed the whole room and nearly ended up electrocuted. There’s also the _great knot of tension_ from keeping his instincts subdued as much as possible. A battle on two fronts, and he wants to win neither.

“Kylo.”

His face is pressed into the kitchen counter, and his other hand reaches up to grab for something - saucepan, salt-shaker, whisk, blender, knife, anything - but Poe grabs that hand, too. He yelps and protests, trying to buck him off, delighted when he can’t and instead there’s a _snick_ of a belt moving, and binding his wrists together. It’s tight, so tight that he knows it will leave pink marks for at least a few days if he keeps fighting. 

He keeps fighting, needing to know he’s restrained properly. The leather bites and the hand on the back of his neck won’t let him up. 

“They’re stupid,” he insists, with a little less force. “They don’t know the evil they’re up against, Poe. And you know it! You know I know the Order.”

“Was that any excuse for how you spoke to them?”

“They only listen when you shout! That’s what soldiers do!”

“No.”

“Poe…”

“No. Am I shouting, now?”

He isn’t. His voice is even, and level, and Kylo is already spreading his legs and lifting his ass without even thinking about it. The counter was the great leveller, just the right height to have him presented for Poe to use and abuse. 

When no more words came from the pilot, he… relents. “No.” 

“Are you listening to me?”

Another pause. This one hurts, and Kylo tries again to wrestle free, but Poe just keeps him in place with shins against calves, a hand around his wrists, another on the back of his neck.

Kylo fights. He fights, without moving. He fights the anger and the self-righteousness and the need to win. Win everything. Every single conversation a battle-field. Every meeting of eyes a test of will. Every opposing idea a holy armageddon.

“…yes.”

Yes. He is. His ragged breathing calms a little further.

“You do not do that in public, again. Do you understand?”

“But–”

“No. You don’t. I understand what you need, and what you feel, but it’s unfair to subject other people to your tantrums and cries for attention. You were a bad brat, Kylo. What happens between us, stays between us. Or do you want your mother to know I spank you to screaming my name?”

Kylo doesn’t. Also he sort of does, but he doesn’t. He wants to run around the base, some days, and tell everyone how wonderful Poe is. He wants to throw himself at his knees in public, gazing up adoringly at his Master. He wants everyone to see the marks on his pale skin, and he wants them all to realise he belongs to Poe, as Poe does to him.

…but also he doesn’t. Not… all of it.

“…yes.”

Some of the fight goes out of him, ashamed that he’s brought his private need public. He isn’t even sure why he did, not today. Why he felt so irritated that he couldn’t contain it long enough to get Poe home, and it frightens him how little he can control himself. Frightens him how much he needs this, needs the hands on him, the voice that is even and level and won’t take no for an answer. He shakes, suddenly, in fear.

“We will come up with an unsafeword,” Poe suggests.

Kylo turns his head. They only have a _safe_ word in principle. Kylo is pretty sure he’s too damned stubborn to ever use it, which is dumb, but then Poe wouldn’t ever push him to needing it. 

“What?”

“If you need to get out of public, and you need me to help you. So you don’t resort to trying to force my hand. You say the word, and we make our excuses. Even if it’s for ten minutes, to get you feeling okay.”

How in the hell would that even work, Kylo wonders. 

“It isn’t for you.”

“What?”

“I’ll say it. I’ll say it, and you’ll come with me. And if you try to resist me, I will call you out in front of everyone. And then they’ll all know you’re desperate for me to humiliate you in public, and then you’ll have to look them in the eye the next day.”

The threat - real or not - is enough to send his blood cold and hot at the same time. Right now he can’t even decide if Poe would dare doing it, going that far, but it’s also a safety-net of sorts. Poe notices his behaviour first, usually. And if Poe is prepared to take him away for a moment to get him back on an even keel… he doesn’t need to worry so much about his responses. And he won’t… he won’t subject people to his tantrums, or to his anger. It’s…

…safe…

Kylo nods, and mumbles in gratitude. Poe always knows how to make him feel better. 

“Now, you’re going to come and lie across my lap while I watch a holo. I’m going to stroke your hair, and you’re going to let go of this mood. If you start to get uppity again, then I’ll push you back under. I’ll push you back under each and every time. And if you manage to please me by behaving long enough, I’ll let you suck my cock tonight. If you don’t, then you’re going to bed hard. And if you come in your sleep, you’ll have to lie in the mess until I allow you to move. Do you understand?”

The threat - promise - hits like a velvet-clad glove, and Kylo moans in appreciation. “Yes, Master.” He needs the rules, the commands, to function. And he needs the firm hand behind them to punish him when he transgresses, or he won’t accept them.

“Now come with me,” Poe says, stepping back and walking to sit on the couch. Kylo stands awkwardly - hands still bound - and goes to lie with his head on Poe’s lap, accepting the brush of fingers through his hair. He can smell Poe’s need under his head, and he so badly wants to try to suck him off anyway, but that’s the point. He has to wait. 

Has to **earn** it.

Kylo knows he’s the luckiest man in the world, to have such a kind and knowing Master. He sighs with need-wrecked love, and feels the angry storm inside him calm slowly down.


End file.
